Plain Lo
by kiliyousosilly
Summary: Dear Daisy, I liked the prison instantly, and the people there. I liked that they welcomed me. I liked that I could keep busy and contribute to this community. I just took a while to like him, Daisy. I guess some things take a while. Carl Grimes/OC. Written because requested. Dark themes, swearing.
1. Found

**Plain Lo**

**Chapter One:**

_**Found**_

* * *

**A/N: I get a few requests on my Tumblr (khaleesi-onfire) to write certain OC fics, and surprisingly this pairing came up a few times. Because of that, and because my Hobbit fanfiction is drawing to a close, I thought I'd give a Carl Grimes/OC fic a go. It'll be interesting considering the actor is like two years younger than me and the character is such an interesting thing to play with. I'm really looking forward to delving into the dark themes introduced with Carl in The Walking Dead. **

**So, enjoy.**

* * *

Daisy,

Daryl, Michonne and Maggie found me sleeping beneath a shelf in some middle-of-nowhere shop with scratched up motorbikes blocking the doorway. Daryl will joke, even now, that he couldn't believe I hadn't woken up to the sound of them breaking into the shop.

I suppose that it is kinda worrying. I mean, I'd assumed that after a while I would learn to be a light sleeper, considering how I would have to keep an ear open for the smallest of noises, especially when it was just you and me. That never happened. I still sleep like the dead (that was a bad pun, wasn't it?) - but I'm only deaf to noises. If you tap me while I'm sleeping, I'll wake right up. You remember on Christmas morning, when mum used to have to yell the house down to wake me up?

You never would. You'd always make sure you got to the presents first.

That's how Michonne woke me, anyway. She tapped my forehead with the end of her katana, causing me to bolt upright and smack my forehead against the tipped over stack of shelves I'd been sleeping under. An embarrassing first encounter, but I think that had actually made them like me.

I hadn't seen anyone in ages. Not since you. I avoided people after I had lost you.

Seeing these three people made me a little nervous, but Maggie had explained that they had a safe place, and if I wanted to come back with them I could. I was nervous about joining a group. I didn't know if I could trust them. Since Melanie and since you, I started to avoid liking people and getting attached.

They told me about their group. Daryl muttered, 'What are you, _thirteen? _Shouldn't be out here alone, 'specially with spindly little arms like that'. I had told him politely that I was not thirteen, nor did I look thirteen. I was sixteen. I _looked _sixteen. I'm not even _short _- hell, _you _were the short one. I guess you _were _thirteen, though.

Were.

I told Daryl, Michonne and Maggie that I had supplies. I had food stashed into one corner, beneath a table cloth, and I had some knives I had picked up over time. I had one gun, but I never used it. 'One bullet,' Daryl had murmured, fiddling with it and shooting me a meaningful look.

I had shrugged. That bullet was my last resort. That bullet had a story that I wasn't eager to let go of.

I'm sorry. I shouldn't bring it up.

They asked me the questions that the council had thought up, whilst Michonne kept a keen eye on the shop door. 'How many Walkers you killed?' Walkers. We used to call them Biters. I had replied that I had killed more than I could remember. 'I used to look after my little sister,' I explained. 'There wasn't anyone else to protect her'. I let them assume what had happened to you. My Daisy.

Remember those early months of clumsy Walker killing? Remember figuring out that the dead came back, no matter what? No. You wouldn't, would you? I had to find that out on my own.

'You killed any people?' By people, I had known that Daryl meant real, breathing people. _Had I murdered? _I had shaken my head without fault. I had lied without missing a beat. Because of this, there was no need for the third question. The question would have been, 'Why? Why did you kill?'

Why did I kill, Daisy? Why?

I had slung my bag over my shoulder, filled with my personal belongings that Maggie had watched me pack away. A picture of mother and you, a long gone dad missing from the frame. Four packets of cigarettes, one opened - I started up after you went. Sorry. The camera and a stack of photographs tied together with a hair band. They stopped when you stopped being. A worn copy of _Lolita, _a book I used to make sure you would become familiar with through late night readings. I put Carl through the same ordeal_. _Three knives. Two big, one small. The gun. Strong tape. Wire. A toothbrush.

I had thanked them, realising that I had not yet done so. 'Really,' I had pushed. 'Thank you'. I'd been on my own for too long to realise how much I missed the company of people who only wanted to survive and help. These people were good. The questions they had asked me showed that they only wanted the best for their group - they wanted safety and they wanted community. I understood that. I mean, that's what everyone's looking for in this new, scary world, isn't it? I was very lucky, Daisy. If this group had found us before Melanie had, I think we would of been alright.

Having never learnt to drive myself, I hadn't been in a car since shit hit the fan. Daryl drove, Michonne sat beside him. Maggie and I had been separated by my stuffed backpack and the lingering subject of how young I was. It had been mentioned a few times, but I could tell they still wanted to broach the subject. That was one thing that I noticed with the group, Daisy. They wanted to preserve childhoods, whilst others out there forgot that people our age weren't used to such horrors.

They wanted to ask me the big question. _How did **you **make it this long alone?_

I watched my familiar territory pass by until we were surrounded by trees. That shop had been my home for months, you know. It was almost a little upsetting to see it go.

Wherever they were taking me, it was in the middle of nowhere too.

'You been on your own for a while, then?' Out of the two women in the car, Maggie had been the more talkative. She wanted to make me feel comfortable. So, humouring her, I had nodded.

'Months, I think. Most of winter'. That's when I had lost you. Just on the brink of autumn that turned into winter, remember? Tucked away in some cheese shop that stank so much it covered up our scent from the Walkers. I swear, it took me weeks to get the smell of Camembert from my jacket.

'Shit, girl. We didn't even ask you your name'. My _name_, Daisy. I had started to forget I even had a name. The name given to me by our Ma. Dad wasn't there when I was born, and he was long gone by the time you came about, not liking the idea of _another _kid. The name that our Ma had settled with, deciding that Lolita would only be the name of a book, not her daughter. No matter _how much _she wanted it.

'My name. It's, uh, Lola. Lola Kashadourian'.

'Well, heck. Ain't that a mouthful'.

'You can call me Lo, if Lola is too much for you to handle'.

That had earned a dry snort.

Twenty minutes later, I found where there safe haven was. A _prison, _Daze. The _perfect _place. Fences, hulking buildings, wide open space, watch towers. _Cells. _Lucky, my God, that was an understatement. I was God damn _blessed._

We rolled up in that car, and my knee started jumping the way in does when I get nervous. If you'd of been there, you would have whacked me on it. There were so many people. Some stood at the fences, and another two opened the gate so that we could slide in past the oncoming Walkers. I was nervous. They were watching.

I met Rick, who came to greet Michonne and smiled when she handed him a comic book. He was in the middle of talking to Daryl when he noticed my clumsy form stumble out of the car. He looked pleased, this scruffy looking, blue eyed man.

'Rick,' he introduced, holding out a hand. 'You alone?'

'Lola,' I smiled, adjusting my bag and taking his hand. I never really shook peoples hands. That was for adults, wasn't it? Weird gesture, anyway, ain't it? 'And, uh, yeah'. Should I have said something else? God, Daze, I really do suck at meeting people.

'Girl says _uh _more than she says a proper sentence,' Daryl drawled, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder. 'Found her tucked away in some shop'.

'Girl has a _name,_ Daryl,' Maggie replied curtly.

I was led into the prison. I met the others. I know it's not very exciting, but there was so many people to smile and nod at that I lost track of who was who. There was quite a lot of old people, and more children than I had seen since you. Maggie, bless her, stuck by my side throughout. She introduced me to her husband, Glenn, and her sister, Beth.

If you'd of grown a little older, I reckon you would have looked like Beth. You wouldn't have acted like her, though. Beth's quiet and thoughtful and a little sad. You were loud and annoying, before the dead started walking. You changed after that. After that, you were just _sad_.

Perhaps it was because she was only two years older than me, but I took a shine to Beth. She reminded me of our cousin Norma. Pretty easy to talk to. To her great sacrifice, she offered me her top bunk. I had blushed and stuttered out a, 'Oh_, _you don't have to-!' Fuck, had it been rude to decline?

'I don't mind! It'll be nice'.

I think they were all used to newbies, because they got used to my presence within a day. I was given food straight away, and I handed all that I had gathered over to them. Beth urged me to empty my bag and make the room mine, too. I couldn't understand how an eighteen year old wanted to share a room with a sixteen year old. I could only guess she was being nice.

Or the only other free bed was pretty shitty.

And then, past our cell, had walked Patrick. You remember Patrick? He lived down the road from us and came round, like, _once _to help me with my maths homework. Miss Banks had practically _begged _him to tutor me.

So, when I'd caught his eye and he'd caught mine, I had blanched a little at the sheer ludicrous idea that _Algebra Patrick _had survived the apocalypse too. But he was familiar. He was a little bit of home. He was a face I knew. Glasses and tousled hair had not moved an inch.

'Holy shit,' I laughed, causing Beth to stop in placing sheets on my new bed. '_Algebra Patrick'_. It was no secret that I would call him this, and sometimes I would simper at him that I needed some more help with maths, so could he _please _meet me in the library?

Patrick adjusted his classes, mouth agape and eyebrows springing upward. _'Loopy Lola?' _I guess only Ma called me _Lovely Lola, _huh?

'Patrick, you wound me, man'.

'You two _know _each other?' Beth grinned out, white teeth shining and blue eyes wide. 'How?'

'Yeah, _how?'_

And that's when I saw him. I hadn't noticed him standing behind Patrick, you see. For some reason, his tone had sounded indignant at me knowing Patrick - this new, odd girl knowing his friend.

Now, you gotta understand this part, Daze. A big part of my story is this boy. This rude, brave, bad tempered and blue eyed man-boy-_thing _of whom, upon sight, grated my nerves with his moody look and stiff posture. He was younger than me by a year, slightly freckled and wearing that look that Patrick was not. A look I knew well. A look that said _I am an adult in a teenagers body._

For some reason, his suspicious attitude had bugged me - practically _grated _on my nerves. What right did he believe he had to be so sullen at my presence? Why was it, in our first meeting, that Carl Grimes and I stiffened and narrowed our eyes at each other in a display of obvious dislike?

Perhaps it was our mutual need to shove away anything that reminded us of what we had become. We were not like Patrick and Beth - we hid our sorrow, _deep_. But I hadn't know this, Daisy. I had thought that this man-boy-thing was merely a brat; a little shit.

'Oh, we go _way _back'.

And the guns had been cocked.

Until next time. I love you, little sister.

Yours,

Lola.


	2. Okay

**Plain Lo**

**Chapter Two:**

_**Okay**_

* * *

Daisy,

_You're always in my my head. I can't get rid of you._

The first time I had a one on one conversation with that blue eyed, grumpy man-boy-thing, I had been smoking a much needed cigarette. I don't know why, but I didn't want people like Beth or Carol or even Rick to see me smoking. Patrick knew. He had known I was one of those people who would sneak behind the back wall at school to have a childish drag of a badly rolled up cigarette.

I only really started smoking after you were gone.

For a long time, they had been something to suppress the hunger, especially during the winter after you left. Cigarettes were my food when I couldn't find any.

The corner in which I smoked was around a block of the prison, where spare water was kept to gather. Not many people went there, so it was quiet. I hadn't known it the first time the blue eyed grump rounded the corner, but both of us would share many a time talking in that little alcove.

His eyes had narrowed when he saw me, the picture of apprehension and suspicion. He hadn't expected to see me there, this dark haired guy. _Guy. _It's the only world I can use to describe him without using the words _boy _or _man. _Much like I do not know whether I am a _girl _or a _woman_. What makes me a girl? Ah, but the real question is what has made me a woman?

Things, Daisy. Many things.

'What're you doing here?' He was sweaty, like he had been out in the sun for a while and had come to find the barrels of water I leant against. I knew he was Rick's son. I knew his Ma was dead. I knew the baby was his sister.

Even I could guess what had happened there. Later, much later, he would tell me.

I held up my cigarette pointedly, my elbow resting on my knee. 'This'. He didn't like me, and I didn't like him. Something about him annoyed me, but I just couldn't figure out what. Can you? Can you see why I resented this guy? At the time, I had not.

'Stupid time to pick up smoking'. He stood with that stiff back, his hand hovering to where I assumed a gun would be. I no longer held my one bullet gun. I resented it. I had no need to carry it now.

Drag. Exhale. 'How d'you know I didn't smoke before all of this?'

'You would've been too young. Patrick told me you're sixteen, like him'. He paused, eyes narrowed, eyelashes too thick for a guy like him. The fact that he assumed people younger than me or him could not _possibly _smoke had almost made me smile. I wondered, briefly, how old he was. 'It's bad for you'.

I feigned surprise, glancing at my cigarette like I had not known it rested between my fingers. '_Really? Honestly?' _He stared, unimpressed. You would have thought it was funny, Daze. Hell, I did. I leant back, biting the side of my mouth. 'You're name's Carl, isn't it? Rick's son?'

I had tried, see! I had tried to be _polite._

'And you're Loopy Lola. Yeah'.

Only to be shot down.

I frowned, flicking my cigarette and jumping to my feet. 'And with that _charming comment, _I bid you farewell, Grumpy Grimes'.

I know it's stupid, but I like to think he looked a little disappointed at my departure. Although, it might have just been because I'd flicked the cigarette to land on his shoe. Complete accident, Daze. I swear.

The first days at the prison were slow. I was given odd jobs, like helping Carol cook, helping Beth with baby Judith, and wondering how I would ever get used to this normality. This _restlessness_. I felt I should be doing something more, but I was told I was too young to work on the fence with those who cut at the Walkers gathering there.

I had been on my own for months; I had survived the _winter. _But I said nothing. I stayed quiet. I drew no attention.

Grumpy Grimes saw past it.

There was a time where Beth cradled Judith whilst her boyfriend Zac watched, smiling and laughing when Judith was offered to him. 'No, no. I'm awful with babies. They hate me'. I liked Zac. Zac was nice. Zac was funny. Zac was everything Grumpy tried _not _to be.

Then again, he seemed to treat everyone else with a lighter attitude than me. Honest, Daisy. He hated me.

'What about you, Lo? You any good with babies?'

_Lo. _'_Plain Lo,' _Ma would read to me, in the romantic but cursed words of Humbert Humbert from a crinkled copy of _Lolita._ There was something taboo about that book, but she read it to me all the same. To teach me that even the worst kind of person can love. To teach me that love is beautiful. To teach me that not all love is _good_.'_Not you. You're my sparkling, dazzling, beautiful Lo. Lovely Lola'. _Her sandy hair, like mine, would brush against my face as she would kiss me.

_'Oh, Lo,' _she murmured, the patronising tone seeping into her voice. The room is dark, somewhere you will not hear. '_Were you always going to wait until she fell asleep?'_

_'Lo,' _**you** blinked, standing before me. The gun, two bullets, was held by **your** steady hand. _'Let's go- like Melanie did-' _

I laughed, shaking my head also. They didn't know about you. They didn't know how much those two letters reminded me of you. 'You're better'. The attention was turned back to Judith, but Patrick, who sat beside Carl playing cards, sent me a sad smile.

Carl caught it. He frowned. Patrick shook his head.

I went for a cigarette.

_You've ruined me, Daisy. You've ruined everything. Why couldn't you be strong like Ma asked, like I was everyday? For you._

You can see the sun beautifully from the courtyard of the prison. I'd smoked there and offered Daryl one. The man, quite funnily, seemed a little dubious about taking a cigarette from a sixteen year old girl.

'Feel like I should be tellin' you to stop or somethin', y'know?' he asked, scooping some matches from his filthy jeans. I shrug. He scoffs. 'Yeah. Worse things these days'.

'Amen'.

There wasn't much talking, but when there is it is from me. I ask about how long they've been at the prison, how many people decided to leave, how long it took to get it as it is now. He lists off the people who were here at the start, and it is no surprise to me. You can see who are family in this place.

He tells me, hesitantly, about the Governor.

'Michonne goes lookin' for him. She's leavin' again tomorrow at about midday'. I could tell that he was not happy about this, and I wondered whether this is a collective feeling from everyone. Maybe that is why there was rules about who could go out and who could not. We had rules like that.

Don't go out alone. Don't make too much noise. Don't use the gun unless you have to. Don't drink too much water. Don't eat too much food. _Don't get bit._

Melanie would ignore all of the rules I had through up for our safety.

Daryl stubbed out the cigarette soon after, twisting it onto the ground and flicking it away. He has a funny way of presenting himself, with nervous movements and shifty eyes. It's like he's never really sure of what he's doing. I don't ask where he went, but judging from the direction he scuffles away I assume it's to see what Carol was doing with the food she prepared every day.

I thought about Grumpy. I thought about how his face soured when I walked into a room. When he does that, all I see is Melanie. All I see is Melanie leaning over you, whispering to you, sobering up and scooting away as soon as I entered the room.

_She poisoned you._

_She deserved what she got._

'Why won't you hold Judith?'

I tried to hide my jump at him appearing, but as he slid in to stand next to me I caught the smirk plastered onto his face. I hate smirks. I hate arrogant looks. You weren't arrogant, Daze. You were modest and revelled in the fact that girls in your grade would wrinkle their noses at you when you skidded into mud or ate a worm for a dare.

I slid the cigarettes further into my pocket, deciding that I would not have another. You'll be pleased to hear that. I blinked at him, hearing what he said but not quite wanting to answer it. 'What?'

Should someone his age look so sad? Is that how I looked, Daisy? His stare, his drawn look - it all reminded me of you. 'Why wouldn't you hold Judith - before?' Eyes squinted and hands pushed into the pockets of his worn jeans, he half turned to me.

Why _hadn't_ I held her? When you were born, I had only been three. I can hardly remember you being much younger than me, because we'd only been separated by three years. I could blame it on the casual use of _Lo, _but I don't think that had been it. I think it had been a reminder of looking after something younger than me, something more fragile.

Because I know you resented it, but you could not kill Walkers. No matter how much you flung yourself into mud or off of tree branches growing up, you were not mean, you were not a killer, you were not used to such horrible things.

So I had taken the job of looking after you, of caring for you like Ma, of hiding the bad and of killing the Walkers.

I half glanced at Carl, at Grumpy, and then frowned out at the fence Walkers. 'I dunno'. The hissing sigh through his teeth and the roll of his eyes had me biting back a smile. Sometimes, you see, we teenagers like to let our cliché frustrations show. I remember how you used to say _whatever _and, sometimes, even stomp your foot.

I think you got that from me, actually.

I never got angry after you...went. I was just sad. Just surviving in a trance of being quiet, of tiptoeing and of only ever thinking about what I would do next. Now that I really think about it, I didn't really feel much. I couldn't be bothered to feel anything else.

But then I met a man-boy-thing who ignited an irritation in me that had me _feeling._

'Maybe I don't like childr-'

'You looked _sad. _It'd be a whole lot easier if you just _told _people about before'. Before. A term that everyone seemed to know meant _before this, before the world ended. _People had asked me about before; scattered questions here and there that I would avoid. My memories were for my mind, not for me to talk about. I don't think I could trust my tears if I actually spoke of you.

I couldn't, anyway. I would get caught out in a lie.

I stepped away from him, confused at his attack at my own way of going about things. 'What is your _problem? _Why do you _care?'_

He did not flinch. He did not blink. There was no animation to his face like there was when I saw him farming with his dad, Daze. He just looked _blank. _And now, I think _of course, why would there be? I was the only one who was in the same boat as him, and he saw it before I did. _'You want to be comfortable here? Then make an effort to get people to _like _you'.

This alarmed me. 'Have they said anything? Do they not think I'm...' What, Daze? _Sane? Okay? Stable?_

Carl saw me struggle. He knew. 'Pretend you're _okay_ for long enough and they'll believe it'.

In a few short minutes this man-boy-thing had changed from an irritation to someone who _got it, _and that alarmed me. For him to show so much perception on the subject of me struggling to fit in and act normal after having been stuck so long with my own shattered conscience...I could only assume that he _understood._

_You did this to me, Daisy._

I knew what Carl had gone through, but at that moment I had not known the full extent. 'Okay,' I had agreed, nodding and settling my shoulders. 'You're right'. Smile, help out more, mingle with Carol and Beth and Maggie and Daryl, the ones who I talk to without fiddling with my hands and stuttering over my words. 'You're right,' I repeated, voice hitching.

I blinked, coughing.

Carl Grimes was already turning away from me. It wasn't until I saw him meeting his dad halfway across the grassy plain that I considered how he had come to _me. _He had seen me standing there - had most likely seen Daryl leave - and had come to see me and to warn me to act _okay._

Until next time. I love you, little sister.

Yours,

Lola.

* * *

**These chapters aren't the amount I would normally write, but with the format of this story (letters) it just seems to fit better. Thank you to those who have reviewed and followed and favourited so far! I'm glad you like it!**


	3. Memory

**Plain Lo**

**Chapter Three:**

_**Memory**_

* * *

Daisy,

I miss mom. I miss her reading to me. I miss the smell of her floral perfumes and incense that would reek out the front room. I miss pancakes on a Sunday and the socks she would buy us on our birthdays. I miss her curly hair. I miss her make-up mirror. I miss her comforting hugs that were warm and soft and smelt of roses and baking.

I miss you. I miss your soft blonde hair. I miss your bitten fingernails. I miss your loud, high laugh. I miss that you didn't care what people thought of you. I miss your moments on affection, hidden behind a gruff shell. I miss gazing at you whilst you slept and the world went to shit around us. I miss you being my light.

I felt like I was a bin, and there was so much broken glass and thrown away things inside of me. I felt like the marbles in my mind were slipping away and bumping into each other. I felt like I had hidden the mess so deep that I couldn't ever tidy it up.

I tried, Daisy. I tried so hard at the prison to be smiley and helpful. I pushed myself to be there every morning when the food was prepared. I would look pointedly at Grumpy Grimes and serve him the cooked goods of that day. I would lean into Carol's nurturing nature, I would agree with her quiet words that the other children needed to learn how to survive too. I ignored her plotting looks and got on with what I had to do.

At night, I would talk with Beth. I would chuckle at her musings of Zac, I would listen to her talk of the farm. When I noticed the blank look in her eyes and the utter indifference to death, I would say nothing. I was not the only one who was broken.

When the two girls, Lizzie and Mika, arrived with there father...I _broke_.

She was you, Daisy. Dirty and hard looking, with blonde hair and a protective arm around her sisters shoulders. She looked thinner than you had but, fuck, she was _you. _Or maybe I saw you in the body of a girl around your age; saw what I wanted to see. This Lizzie, this mimic of your beautiful face...I hated her with every fibre of my being.

But I resented her in secret. I would hang around whilst Carol got to know them and mothered them and whilst Lizzie shot me odd looks when she caught me staring.

With the introduction of these two girls to the growing group of children and teenagers, Carol introduced story time. It was held in the 'library', away from the loudness of the prison and of the farming outside. The summer was hot, and the library was cool.

Carl and I were the only two who did not attend story time.

I could understand why Patrick went, though. Same with Lizzie, who's thirteen (_just like you, just like you)_. I remember being thirteen and being embarrassed of Ma reading to me, no matter how much I loved the sound of her voice. I thought it was childish. I suppose it's the perception that the world gave us though - kids grew up into adult things too quickly, but secretly clung onto their childish loves.

Being sixteen, I knew that there was no concern at me not going. Still, it would be offered to Carl and I repeatedly, simply because we were so much younger than the adults. We didn't fit in with the runs into towns or the Walker patrol around the fence, no matter how much we knew we were _able. _I did not go to story time because I knew I would feel uncomfortable, surrounded by those innocents.

I suppose that's why Carl didn't go.

Instead of story time, I would do my exercises. I never stopped, you see. I would do my crunches and my sit ups, just like I would make you do every so often. _Stay fit. Stay alive._

Carl would farm. When I was done with my exercises, I would sometimes take a peek out of the front of the prison and spy him and his dad out, rakes in their hands and their silhouettes illuminated by the hot summer sun. We hadn't spoken since his warning, but there were odd moments where we'd catch each others eye or brush against each other when walking in opposite directions.

I read Lolita a lot, too. I kept it all this time, the pages more crinkled than ever. Do you remember reading it, late at night when there was nothing else to do? I do. I liked those nights, before Melanie came along and when we were huddled away somewhere safe. I would read it to you quietly. I don't know what it is about that book, but we've just always read it as a family. Ma passed it down to me, but I think I loved it a lot more than you did. You, rather than reading, preferred to write up your own stories.

It was during story time on a particularly hot day that I sat reading Lolita, just a little bit away from the tables and benches where a few others hung about. There was no food being served, so people had taken the heat as an excuse to relax there. Of course, Rick and Carl were farming. They woke up way earlier than I ever did. I mean, the first few days I slept in so late that it was _embarrassing, _so after that I told Beth to always wake me up when she woke up.

I don't know. I didn't want to appear lazy or useless, and _you_ know that I could sleep for two solid days if I wanted to.

Daryl was out on a run with Glenn, and Maggie was with Beth and Judith somewhere in the prison. Everyone else was scattered around doing odd jobs and relaxing.

I only noticed that my eyes kept skimming over the top of my book to look at Carl Grimes when I accidentally caught his eye.

I'm not very, er, _suave, _Daisy_. _You know that, so you can guess that my jerky turn of the head to look at an _interesting _wisp of cloud probably made Grumpy (see? There I go again) roll his eyes at me like he seemed to always be doing. The fact of the matter was, was that he had caught me staring, and that implied I was interested in whatever he was doing enough to _stare. _The idea hadn't occurred to me until then, and the fact that he had caught me doing it had me internally berating myself until I saw him making his way over to me.

I had closed my eyes in annoyance - a manner you and I got from mom - and held my book higher to block my annoyed expression.

'Y'know, instead of staring at everyone else doing work, you _could _actually help out'.

Farming. _Me. _Christ, apparently the only thing I was alright at was killing Walkers with a knife, and that had taken _long enough _to discover. Farming? Hell no. We group up in Atlanta, never venturing toward the farming district of Georgia. Mom's insistence of gardening already had me wanting to top myself most days.

I pressed my book into my lap with an exaggerated sigh and cast my eyes up to where he stood, blocking the sunlight from my eyes. Still, I had squinted. Still, I had pulled my legs to my chest in an attempt to move away from him. I don't know why. Maybe I'd wanted to appear like I didn't want him near me. In fact, and I feel silly admitting it, but he looked good. Hair dark and plastered to his face with sweat, freckles popping out across his cheeks and eyes like the blue of my old bedroom.

I suppose I should have mentioned it before, but Grumpy was...was lovely looking. It took me a long time to notice it, but in that second, with sun spilling over the top of his head and knee cocked in a stance that mirrored the one his dad always wore, I felt a stirring attraction that had been absent in my distractions. A stirring that teenagers were prone to, but one that had startled me and discomforted me.

And then I had remembered what he had said, and those blue _blue _eyes lost their effect on me.

'Oh, and here comes the wise words of Carl Grimes. _Please, _share with me your infinite wisdom,' I snapped back and pressed my thumb between the pages of Lolita, shutting it. 'You know, just because I don't do what _you _do, it doesn't mean I don't help out'.

His mouth was pulled into a wry smile, eyes crinkling and sparkling in a way that suggested he _enjoyed _this. And why would he not? The fact that I had taken the time to close Lolita shows that I'd _wanted _this conversation, just as he had walked across the field to talk to _me. _We enjoyed the annoyance we ignited within each other. 'Yeah, you look like you're working _real _hard'.

God, aren't we teenagers such _annoying_ little asses, Daze?

I hated him in that moment. I hated him for making me seem so useless and so...so _nothing. _He had no idea, Daze. No idea of what I had done out there, when I had been alone and scared and starving. He didn't know what I _had to do. _'I cook. I help look after you little sister. I keep fit every day. I _survive - _just like you. I'm in the same boat as you, Carl - I can't help out the way I want to either, so I settle with what I've got. Huh, just like _you_ use farming as a distraction from the fact that you're treated like a child _too!'_

He looked pleased, and I realised that he had wanted to see something angry come out of me. 'I was starting to think you didn't have real _human _emotions-'

'_Me? _Yeah, _I'm _the robot, Grimes'.

I must have stood up halfway through my rant, but I'm not sure when. I was the same height as Carl, maybe a few centimetres shorter. I had much preferred that way of interacting with him, not staring up at his stupid face.

'I _knew _you felt that way, too. I _knew _you hated not having your gun'. I don't know whether it way he worded it, or the tone in his voice, but Carl...he'd sounded, for the first time ever, like a kid, saying _I told you so._

_I had been right. _I had known that there was a mutual understanding there, one that we both knew existed. We both knew we were capable of so much more than just sitting around and doing jobs - we knew better. The adults, though, would tell us that we were too young, we were too weak to fight off Walkers alone.

But I can see, on some level, they were right.

Carl was reckless. I'd seen him walk too fast and nearly trip over, just as I had seen him lose his temper with a jar that would not open or with something his dad had said. That could kill him.

I, on the other hand, was not reckless enough. I would be so careful, out _there, _that I would hardly risk anything. I had nearly starved loads of times because of it. That could kill me.

I shook my head. 'I was never good with a gun. I kept my knives. But, like you, I'm not _allowed-'_

_'_To use them. Yeah, tell me about it'. Was this the bitterness that he had been hiding from his dad, Daze? Like a well trained solider, Carl Grimes had learned to keep his emotions at bay and be loyal to those in charge. I mean, Rick wasn't really _in charge, _but people seemed to look at him as a leader. Carl just wanted to please him, I guess.

But Carl and I had our strengths too, you know.

Carl was good with a gun.

I was good with my knives.

I smiled, the first smile I had sent his way, and licked my lips thoughtfully. Now that I stood directly in front of him, I felt too close to him. 'Teach me how to use a gun'.

His face soured, the pleased look evaporating. 'I'm not _allowed-'_

Something about it, something other than the fact I could learn how to shoot, was perfect. Perhaps it was the idea of being alone with the man-boy-thing who made me feel a real emotions, be it anger or annoyance. 'It won't be loaded. _You _don't even have to use it. Just teach me the basics. You're not breaking your dads trust that way. We don't have to tell anyone'.

His eyes narrowed. 'Why?'

'Because I'm a shit shot and, from what I hear, you're not'.

He shook his head, as if the idea was ludicrous. 'Yeah, about that..._how_ did you survive _that long _without knowing how to shoot-?'

'I never said I couldn't shoot; I said I was a shit shot. I've shot Walkers plenty of times, just not very well and not from a far distance. I could never-' I waved my hand toward my head vaguely.

'Why me?'

Because, my Daisy, I was starting to realise that our shared dislike meant we could _talk _to each other honestly, and I was starting to _miss_ honesty. 'Do you think anyone else will teach me?'

'No'.

'_That's _why'.

He frowned. His dad called from him in the distance. I raised my eyebrows.

'Fine'.

And he stalked away from me, missing my pleased little smile.

Until next time. I love you, little sister.

Yours,

Lola.

* * *

**The reviews have been lovely, thank you so much!**


	4. Lessons

**Plain Lo**

**Chapter Four:**

_**Lessons**_

* * *

Daisy,

'I'm going to teach the children to...to survive'.

That's what Carol said to me. She'd ducked into mine and Beth's room, which Beth was absent from, as she usually was during the day. I knew what Carol was talking about, of course. I had guessed that she was thinking of it- of teaching the children such things - despite no one else having considered that the kids _needed _to know how to use a knife.

I sat on the edge of Beth's bed, nodding slowly in agreement. 'I won't tell,' I promised, talking lowly as she hovered in the cell doorway. 'If you ever need help-'

Carol reached out, placing a delicate hand on my shoulder. I forced myself not to flinch away; to not feel _guilty_ at the affection I felt for her, this sudden maternal figure in my life. 'I know you won't, Lola. I'm gonna need you to cover me, if it ever comes to it. I'm not...I'm not going to tell the parents'. Her worried eyes slowly met mine. 'Is that wrong?'

'No. They _need _to know. I got your back. I won't tell'.

Carol nodded, a tight smile on her face. 'I've mentioned it to them and told them not to tell their parents, and they seem to be okay with that. I'm just...not sure about Patrick. He's close to Carl, you know? I just don't want-' she lowered her voice even more, leaning in and placing a hand against the cell gate. '-I just don't want Rick finding out, and Carl's a lot more closer to his lately-' She looked vaguely guilty for a moment.

'What?'

'Well...I noticed, at breakfast and at dinner that he'd- he'd _look _at you. Don't look at me like that, Lola. He's a teenage boy and you're a pretty girl. I've seen you talk to him, and I was thinking that during _story time _you could distract him. Talk to him or make sure he's with his dad-'

'Okay, Carol. I will'.

Had this been the right decision? I thought, and still do, that it was. These children needed to know how to fight, and the adults were so wrapped up in _normality _that we could not decipher their reactions to it or if they would allow it. So, every story time I nodded to Carol and allowed her to do what she wanted. She was helping, she was teaching.

I know what you're thinking, Daisy. I know you're thinking that I'd agreed _so quickly _to _distracting _Carl Grimes during story time. I could have told Carol that it was not needed - my distraction. Carl wouldn't be caught dead in story time, and he was always so busy with his dad, farming, anyway.

But still, I had agreed, allowing Carol to go forward with these lessons.

And, in turn, I earned my own lessons.

'You're right handed?' I clumsily switched the unloaded gun to my right handed, feeling stupid at my mistake. I'd found it somewhere in the prison, a forgotten weapon that was now useless. I had been _nervous, _Daisy. The idea of someone teaching me and me getting it wrong...it made me nervous. This was only made worse by the fact it was _Grumpy_ who was teaching me. 'Stance'.

'What about it?' I had asked it in honest curiosity, gun feeling so much heavier than a knife in my hand. Carl had ruffled his hair and reached forward, pushing my left shoulder back with some tentativeness. 'Oh. _Sideways_'. I followed his lead. I was a good student, Daze. I promise I tried.

I know I hadn't been the best student in school, but that's only because I had a bad attention span and I hated asking for help. Oddly enough, I was only ever good at computing classes, wasn't I? You inherited your disinterest in school from me too, I guess. I mean, we got _average _grades, didn't we? Nothing bad.

'Yeah'. Carl rubbed his cheek with the hand that had touched my shoulder. We stood in my smoking alcove - hadn't I said we would come here once again? Carl stood on my right side, face at level with the gun I had raised. 'Arm straighter'. I straightened out the joint of my elbow. 'Feet. Put you left one back a little. Is that comfortable?'

I had gazed at him. 'Did your dad teach you all of this?' It was genuine curiosity, because the words he said to me seemed so much like he was repeating them from a memory.

Carl glanced quickly at a wall. 'Yeah. And his friend. Shane'.

_Dead._

'Oh'.

His gaze had flickered back to me. 'You lowered your arm'.

My voice rose an octave in indignation, as it always would when you and I argued. This, of course, would end up with you mimicking me horribly. 'Because I was talking to you!'

Carl had shrugged, turning his head a little to hide the twisting smile. I nearly choked when I saw it, Daze. A God damn _smile. _'Well, hot damn. Was that a _smile, _Carl Grimes?'

'Shut up'.

'If only I had a camera'.

'I said shut _up_'.

'I know you did. I'm not deaf'.

'Just _stupid_, then'.

I had laughed. Daze. I'd _laughed. _That was when I knew Carl Grimes was special. Special in the kind of way that makes you realize - _heck, you're not as bad as I thought, are you? _'Man, that one hurt!'

He rubbed his nose in an amused manner. 'You've lowered your arm again'.

'Oh, for fucks _sake_'. I straightened my arm up so quickly that the gun nearly whacked him in the nose. Out of habit, I guess, he ducked away from it, startled. I shouldn't have laughed, but I did. 'It's not loaded, _Einstein'._

'Shut up'.

'_Ouch-'_

His gaze darkened, making me bite back one of my many amused smiles. When was it last that I had smiled that much out of genuine amusement? I can't remember, Daze. Months. Before you went away.

We carried on with the lesson. Carl was a good teacher, I will give him that. He _was_ short with me, not ever trying to be polite or kind about the fact that I couldn't quite keep my stance rigid or my arm straight. I was used to close encounters with Walkers; with ducking, darting, diving - _that's _what I was good at.

Still, he got that shooting was not my strong point, and I guess he respected me for trying to learn. In fact, he told me at a later date that it was my request for him to teach me that made him realize I was not such a dunce, either.

'Why don't you go to story time?'

The gun had been tucked away into the waistband of Carl's jeans, just in case anyone rounded the corner. I didn't know how people would react to Carl teaching me, just how Carol did not know how the others would have reacted to her teaching the children. I looked at Carl, who had leant against the wall beside me, and blew a thoughtful puff of smoke out of my mouth.

'Same reason you don't, I'd wager'.

He snorted. Every laugh and dry snort in my direction was always a reminder that Carl was laughing _at _me. It was always like he saw _me _as the child, when I was the eldest. He was odd, Daze. So odd. 'Wager? How old are you - _fifty_?'

'Says _you. _What does Patrick call you again..._young sir_?'

'And what does he called you? Oh, _right. _Loopy _Lola'._

Well, shit. He had me there, Daze. And I had _loved _it. I had loved the constant banter strung between us, so easily unravelled for the two of us to hold either end. These moments with Carl, even at the beginning, were like heroin to me. I mean, I've never tried the stuff, but I've heard it's addictive, like getting a high that you want more and more. That's kind of what it had been like. When I argued with Carl, or when I exchanged insults with Carl...I thought of nothing else but the amusement he caused me, and the anger he pulled out.

I _felt._

Carl kicked at the ground, his boot scuffing my own. His eyes had been trained on the ground, but after a thoughtful moment they flashed up to mine in a flash of blue with a pinprick of black in the middle. 'Patrick's not the only one who calls you that. Lizzie and Mika call you it sometimes, 'cause of the way you stare at them. Why _do_ you do that?' I looked at him sharply, flicking the cigarette out of my hands. 'Carol told them to not say anything to you about it'. Had I been that obvious, Daisy?

My heart jumped, my cheeks reddened. 'I _don't _stare. I don't even _like _Lizzie. She bugs me'.

'She's _thirteen-'_

_'_And what are _you?' _

'I'm_ fifteen'. _I hadn't actually meant for him to answer, mostly because the comment was meant to imply that I thought him childish and annoying. In fact, I found him the opposite, which is why I decided I liked arguing him with. The fact that he replied with such ferocity and indignation had surprised me. He coughed, eyes losing that angry look. 'Anyway, you can't _glare _at her just 'cause you don't like her. You gotta live with her and get on with it. You live with _me_'.

I turned, with a slow blink, to stare him. He stared back, the words he had said making an imprint in the air between us. _You live with me. _Did I not like Carl Grimes? I couldn't tell any more. I yearned for his company and for his voice, an anchor away from the bad memories and the dullness of sitting in my room or cooking with Carol. Did I dislike him? I disliked his anger, his attitude, his sharp gaze - but did I _dislike him_?

'Carl, you know I don't-'

'Oh! Uh, sorry, I'll-'

Carl sighed and rolled his eyes and the words had died in my throat, evaporating into an awkward cough. _I don't hate you. _I didn't hate him, I guess. Just disliked him a little, but liked him enough to want his company. _  
_

'It's fine, Patrick'. But Carl had not sounded fine, Daisy. Carl had sounded annoyed at this disruption, perhaps a little disappointed. Perhaps I was not the only one who wanted the others company, like a familiar little reminder than our minds were not so different. He pulled away from the wall, eyebrows raised. 'You wanted to go see Violet?'

Patrick, stuck in a freeze frame, slowly relaxed. He adjusted his glasses in a manner than I remembered from school, and flashed a quick smile to me, then said to Carl, 'You know you're not meant to, er, name the pig. Or her piglets'.

I snorted. 'You _named _them?'

Carl glared hard had Patrick, a dust of pink appearing across his pale cheekbones. He had named the pig, Daisy. The pig and her piglets that had been placed in the makeshift pen in the middle of the grassy field - he had _named _her. I suppose, in that moment, Carl had seemed more _boy _than ever.

'Only _her,' _Carl defended, practically sending Patrick a _sneer. _'Come _on _then, Patrick,' he urged, walking swiftly past the taller boy who, with a small little wave, darted after his friend. I was left alone, once again, with the lingering feeling that Carl Grimes had been embarrassed because I had seen a softer side to his nature.

I still have soft sides too, you know. I showed them to you in hugs and in kisses and in holding your hand in those colder nights. I know I have put so much emphasis on my pain and on my anger, Daisy, but I promise I have good feelings too. The thing is, I found the good feelings once again when Carl Grimes said to me, '_Pretend you're okay for long enough and they'll believe it'. _I had found the good feelings in the plain fact that I was not the only, so young, searching for a way to be okay.

The thing is, Daisy, I don't think I would be the same without my bad thoughts and feelings. They have kept me alive. They have kept me thinking. They have kept me reading Humbert Humbert's words over and over and understanding his memoir so much more than I ever did before. I would be me, without my bad thoughts and feelings, but I believe I would be a lot more boring than I am now.

Until next time. I love you, little sister.

Yours,

Lola.

* * *

**Review, favourite, blah, blah.**


	5. Tears

**Plain Lo**

**Chapter Five:**

_**Tears**_

* * *

Dear Daisy,

It was that day that Lizzie passed me with a curious, apprehensive glare. I knew then that my staring had given the girl the impression that I didn't like her, but I guess I had been _glaring. _I'd just been looking for a trace of you in her; a clue as to why she reminded me so much of you. I could never find it.

So, as the girl passed me, I caught her arm.

I then quickly let go of her arm.

Maybe this is what Carl was talking about when he said I should _try. _I could clear the air with this Lizzie kid, this cracked mirror image of you, Daisy. I think a little part of me was doing it for _you. _I didn't want to be the mean girl, the one who glared and kept quiet and only ever really spoke to one person her age - Grumpy Grimes.

Lizzie, in her surprise, jumped back a little at my sudden grabby hands. 'What?' she said, her voice lingering on the _t. _Christ, Daisy, she'd almost seemed _wary _of me.

'I just...' I ran a hand through my hair, knotting through the dirty waves. My hair used to be a little curly, didn't it? So did yours. We used to have quite nice hair, like mom's. 'Look, Lizzie, I know I haven't been very...talkative with you'. How had I forgotten so quickly how to talk to thirteen year old girls? 'And I'm sorry. Just- just don't take it personally, okay?'

She eyed me with eyes that were a little older than yours had been. _Her too, _I had realised. 'You keep _staring _at me,' she pointed out.

'I know,' I reasoned, putting up my hands. I don't know why I'd done that. 'You-' Breathe. Swallow. 'You remind me of somebody I- I used to know. It surprised me a little the first time I saw you'.

'Oh'.

She understood, I guess. She was called away by Mika a few moments later, offering me a little nod before darting away to draw lines of chalk against the prison walls. I stood, bottle of water in my hand, and sighed deeply. I was glad that had been brushed aside. I had, for a while, wanted to talk to Lizzie and make sure she wasn't scared of me.

But that didn't stop the _sorrow _from welling up inside of me like a damn..._dam. _She wasn't you at all, and I had realised that _fully_ upon talking to her face to face. Her voice was too high to be yours, and her lips too frowning and thin. You had darker eyes, my eyes, and a great ability to start smiling mid sentence. That would always have me smiling in an angry manner, shouting something like, 'Quit making me laugh, Daisy. I'm trying to tell you off!'

It was as if this Lizzie, this little girl, hadn't really cared at all about what I was saying in the end. God, Daisy, I'd missed you so much then. The mere idea that I was still existing without you had hit me like a tone of bricks and had me hurtling, throat tightening, to my smoking alcove. I bumped into someone on the way there but, in my panic of them seeing my crying, I had offered only a choked _sorry _and tripped over my own feet to reach the secluded area.

I leant against the wall, feet prodding the cigarette butts, and glared up at the sky with watering eyes.

_You were gone. _

You had been gone for months, I guess. I had mourned you for a day and then got on with things, Daisy. I'm sorry for admitting that, but it's true. It's easy to distract yourself in a world filled with monsters and darkness, so I had plunged myself into the dark with my knives in hand. I had made it my aim to find somewhere new to sleep and live, to remember you and to build a safe haven.

There had not been many tears. A few stray ones had run down my face and dropped off my chin, but then Grumpy had said, 'What's wrong with you?' and my hands had flown to my face in a panic. _Don't let him see. Don't let him see._

'Nothing'. My voice was thick and watery, so not very convincing at all.

'You practically _mowed_ me down to get here, so something must be wrong. You never _cry'. _I glared at him, mouth shut tight to keep my bottom lip from quivering. _You never cry. _I know I hadn't, and that's what had me so distraught. Why hadn't I cried more for you, Daisy?

'I had- I had-' I scraped my palm of my cheeks, wiping away the wetness there. 'I just remembered someone - suddenly. She-' I swallowed, glaring at the ground, feeling so stupid. Grimes had lost his mom, he knew what I was going through, yet he could smile and act fine and spend time with his dad. 'Went'. Everyone had lost someone. It was useless crying over you like that.

Why can't I say the D word?

'Died,' Carl dead panned, standing there with his fast growing hair and my water bottle in his hands. Huh. I must have dropped it. 'She died'.

My jaw tightened. 'Yeah'. I looked at him, wishing so hard that we had not started this _whatever _with such dislike. 'That's why I was out there alone, when they found me. She died months ago. My _sister_'.

'Bit?'

'What?'

'Was she bit?' No. No, you hadn't been bit, had you? Could I lie like that, Daisy? Would it be a complete ruin to your memory if I lied about the way you had died?

'Yeah. Bit'.

There was pause in which I sniffed and stood up straighter, only looking up when Carl approached me with my bottle of water and serious blue eyes. He handed the bottle to me, bowing his head a little. 'Lola. That- that sucks'.

_Lola._

I smiled wryly. 'Thanks, Carl'. I breathed in, realising with a kind of hilarity that I had cried in front of Grumpy Grimes. 'Don't tell anyone I cried'. _Because then they'll want to know what I cried about, then they'll ask questions. I don't want to keep lying. I want the lie to be forgotten._

Carl had nodded, face set into that grim line of seriousness. 'I won't. I just-' He looks as if he might laugh, for a split second, and then it dies. 'I never thought I'd see you cry, you know? It's weird. Like seeing Daryl _skip _or something'.

'I'm not a complete robot'.

'Yeah, not _completely,' _Carl replied sarcastically, blue eyes darting up into an eye roll. He was about to say something else, to reply with some other comment on the brink of friendliness, when we heard the scream. After that, there were various other shouts of help and warning and surprise. Carl snapped his mouth shut, stared at me and then broke out into a fill sprint in the opposite direction.

I followed.

It was one of the fence people, Daisy. The ones who took care of the Walkers piling up against the fences. Lately, they'd been piling up differently - not spreading out, going to one place. Carol had noticed it and mentioned to the Council that maybe we should put more people on the fence. She'd sent me an amused look, almost pitying, and said, 'Not you, Lola. I'm sorry'.

One of them had been bit.

The moment Carl and I arrived at the field, she had already been dragged to the table. I hadn't seen anyone who had been bit in months. You forget what it looks like, you know? This woman had been bit in the worst place too - her neck, on the joint between her shoulder and jaw. You couldn't cut that off to stop the infection spreading. She was long gone.

The children who had been playing with the chalk had already been herded in, and the moment Rick saw us he had barked at Carl to get inside _now. _Most had gone inside anyway. There was one other woman kneeling beside the choking one, hand clasped in her own. Glenn was there too. And Daryl.

'But _dad_-!'

'Carl, _now'. _His eyes, Carl's eyes, were desperate as they flashed to mine. 'Lola, you too, alright? Go inside. Go find Patrick. _Carl'. _There was warning in his voice this time, and Carl made an angry noise before turning sharply and stomping into the prison. Rick stared at his retreating back before turning. I suppose he, somehow, felt obligated to stay whilst this woman was put down.

I followed Carl.

I followed him right past all of the cells, down into the deeper parts of the prison where the crying and the shouting could still be heard. It was there, where Carl could let that buried anger out, that he stopped, turned and glared at my passive face with such a look of cold hate that my stomach twisted.

It was his hate, Lola, that had made me so fascinated by Carl Grimes.

'How can you stay so _calm?' _

I blinked lazily. 'I've used up all of my emotions today, I'm afraid. We emotionally stunted few have a set amount, you see'. Just don't, Daze. I know.

He was furious. It was magnificent. 'We could _help. _How can you be okay with being _shoved _in here with the _kids _and the _old people? _We _know _how to survive, but you're _okay _with pretending that _cooking and cleaning _every day doesn't make you wanna _blow your brains out_?' He was breathing hard, brow furrowed and mouth parted. It was the most emotion I had ever seen on his face, and by this point I had been at the prison for a while. '_We're __better __than that!'_

I never liked it when men shouted. You weren't there, but some of my earliest memories are of dad shouting at mom. I remember him shouting at her when she got pregnant with you. His voice took on that gravelly sound, deeper and louder and meaner. When male school teachers would shout at me, I would usually burst into tears.

I don't know whether it was because I was different now, or because it was Carl, but this time I shouted back. 'You think I _like _feeling useless? I was out there _for months _by myself, Carl. _Months. _The things I had to do...' Oh, Daisy, the things I did. _To you_. 'I never want to go back to that, not ever, but d'you think I _like _being banished inside and being told that I can't use my knives or help at all?'

'Then why did you just _stand there?'_

'What the fuck else was I supposed to do? Our word means _nothing _here, Carl. If we argue back, we're just proving their point that _we're teenagers. __Children. _Like you said, easier to smile and get on with it, right? What changed?'

His knuckles turned white and his eyes narrowed into a glare. _'You!' _

Me? _Me? _

'You came to the prison with your knives and your _shit _gun, and you'd been out there alone. You _got it. _You don't want to go to story time or do any of the stuff you _have _been doing. You want to fight too, to _survive _- because we know _how_. I was getting on _fine _before you came here'.

I threw my hands into the hair, incredulous. 'Sorry for inconveniencing you, _sir!'_

And then, with a clueless, angry and lost look, Carl Grimes shot forward, planted his hands on my biceps and clumsily pressed his mouth against mine. Just a rushed press of mouth against mouth, his lips dry and his eyelashes dusting against my cheek. His eyes were closed.

You saw it coming, didn't you, Daze?

I gave him no time to figure out what I assumed to be his first kiss, because I pushed him away from with a feeling I had not felt in a while. _Fear. _Fear of this...this unknown thing. I was used to anger with Carl, or annoyance, or amusement. But _this - _this gasping feeling in my stomach and this lightness in my head.

A woman had just _died._

'What-?'

But Carl was already elbowing his way past me.

Until next time. I love you, little sister.

Yours,

Lola.

* * *

**Thanks for the reviews and follows! Next chapter is going to be a lot of Lola interacting with other characters, mainly Carol, Rick and Beth.**


	6. Simple

**Plain Lo**

**Chapter Six:**

_**Simple**_

* * *

Dear Daisy,

I think I'm going to start like that from now on. It sounds more formal, yet a little nice. Dear Daisy. My Dear. My Daisy. Yeah, I like that, don't you?

I haven't spoken to Carl. We're both ignoring that the _kiss _ever happened, which makes things horrendously awkward when we are in each others presence. But we both keep busy, we both stay out of each others way. It's not difficult to block out everything he had said to me and go back to pretending and working and feeling useless.

It's depressingly easy, actually.

But with these jobs comes the time to talk to Carol, and I honestly like talking to Carol. She's strong, Daisy. She tells me a lot as we cook, or sharpen the knives hanging around the prison in case of emergencies. That had been Carol's idea, to hang them on fences and such. That way they'd be close by. She tells me about Atlanta, and when they had been just on the outskirts. She told me a lot of things about the original group, and how she had been there since the beginning.

'You're a good girl, Lola,' she told me. 'I know I talk to you like you're an adult, but sometimes I really can't help it. You're a survivor, y'know? And that's what we need to be now'. She had wiped the sweat from her brow and gone back to kneading her hands into the dirty clothes. I recognised, with a kind of blushing horror, that I had been washing at a teenage boys pair of boxers.

_Please be Patrick's._

'I used to be weak,' Carol told me. 'My _husband_. His name was _Ed. _He wasn't a good man, and I'm sure you know what I mean by that. I used to do things on purpose sometimes, just so he wouldn't hurt my little Sophia'. She snapped her mouth shut, hands going further into the barrel of water, as if she had said something awful.

I suppose, in a way, Sophia had been to Carol what you are to me.

I couldn't have guessed it, Daze. Carol was _strong_. I hadn't been with her at the beginning, but I could sure as hell see myself being with this woman at the end. She was strong in the kind of way that doesn't just require survival instinct and the ability to take down a Walker. No, Carol was strong in the way that she made decisions and she took the children under her wing and _taught _them.

Mom was strong too, wasn't she? God, Daisy, remember the speeches about men she used to give us? _Don't you girls go listening to a man, you hear me? You're your own person. You're your own mind. If he tells you to do something because he ain't happy with it well, excuse me, but screw that. You wear those short shorts, and don't let anybody call you any names for it. Well, not too short, mind you. _

'You know,' I started, splatting the boxers onto the drying rack. 'When it was just me and my sister out there, I got used to being uncomfortable. When she fell asleep, I'd give her more of the blanket. If we found clothes, I'd give her the cleaner ones. When we took turns taking watch, I'd let her sleep an extra hour'.

Carol stared at me in, what I assumed, was a new light. That was two people who knew, Daisy. Unlike with Carl, I felt okay with telling Carol about you. I trusted Carol. 'We do the worst things for the people we love, don't we?' she asked, a wry smile twisting onto her mouth. 'No matter the outcome'.

Oh, but Daisy, don't we just?

'It doesn't make you weak, Carol. Your husband was the weak one, beating on you like that. My dad did the same to my mom, but he fucked off before Daisy was even born. I barely remember him'. I stared at the water, rippling with our hands buried in it. 'They're the weak ones; people like _that_'.

The conversation lulled after that, until Rick came in with Judith cradled in his arms. The little girl had already grown so much since I had come to the prison, her hair already growing in inches. 'Carol,' he said gruffly, and I recognised the hidden tone in his voice as something serious. 'You mind taking Judy for a little while? I gotta borrow Lola here for a moment'.

I know I shouldn't have been nervous, Daze, but this guy used to be a _cop_.

Carol nodded, taking Judith into her arms and nodding me goodbye as I followed Rick out of the room. The moment we were out of the doorway, he was talking to me in that heavy Southern drawl, so much stronger than the ones I had grown up with.

'Carl,' he started, eyes shifting about as we paused in an empty hallway. 'He's been quiet these last few days. Since he and you haven't been talkin' much I was wonderin' if you knew anythin' about it'. He gave me that look, the kind of look that I'm sure dad - if he stuck around - would have given to any guy who would come knocking on our front door to see me or you.

_You've gotta be kidding me._

'Isn't he always like that? No offence, but he's never been...' I struggled for a word, and Rick huffed out a dry laugh. He'd never been what, Daisy? Talkative? Playful? What did I know? I saw an angry side to Carl that he obviously no longer wanted his dad to see.

'I assumed for a while that you two just didn't like each other. Then when you started to hang around each other...' Rick had placed his hands on his hips, knee cocking. 'I started guessin' he was sweet on you, and Carl's been getting _better_ since we started lettin' people join us. He hated it at the start, but he got _better_. I've seen you getting better too; talkin' to people more and hangin' around Carol. I just want my son to be happy, Lola, you see? I just wanna know why he's goin' to his room every night and avoidin' the very sight of you'.

I was literally being questioned by a cop. Can you imagine how nerve racking that had been, Daisy?

But there was a hint there, an insight into Carl's life here before I had come to the prison. _You came into the prison with your knives and your shit gun- _'I don't know,' I answered, in what I hoped to be a level voice. 'We get on good enough - better than it used to be anyway'.

Rick tilted his head, leaning forward. 'I want my son _happy, _Lola. He's done some stuff that I ain't proud to admit, and I'm sure the same goes for you. Now, if you share some _familiarity _because of that, that's good enough for me'.

Hold the fuck up.

'Are you giving me your _blessing_?'

'I'm giving you my _opinion_. The only time I ever saw you laugh was when you were talkin' to Carl. He was gettin' better, he'd been _trying. _I hope I can say the same for you'.

There had been one more deep, meaningful look into my eyes before Rick nodded and bid me goodbye with a, 'You should go back to Carol, she'll be needing help'. I was thinking of pointing out that, yeah, that's because he'd dumped his kid on her, but decided that this would have been an unfair statement to make.

I was pissed, Daisy. Real pissed. Carol noticed it too, because she said nothing as I stormed back into the room and plunged my hands into the water once again, practically tearing the tank top apart as I clawed away at the dirt.

A few minutes later, she asked, 'Rick want anything interesting?'

'_No'. _

How dare he? How dare I be used as some anti-psychotic for that moody little shit?

Oh yeah, Carl Grimes, don't think I hadn't heard about the boy that you shot down, or the hissy fit that you threw when the other people started joining the prison. Don't think I don't know about your silent days locked away in your room and how long it took your father to drag you out into the sun.

I _hear _things and I _know _things.

But I can't really talk, can I, Daisy? I can't even string into a sentence the terrible things that I have done. I had reacted to your death, but had I reacted to everything else that I had done? I was scared of that, Daisy. I felt real, true horror at what would happen when my emotions and my reality came crashing down upon me.

And I had known I would lose it. I would snap in two and break anything around me.

I just can't react to what I did. I don't know how.

Would Rick want me around his son _then_? What had I been to him, but some messed up kid who could find solace in another scared, messed up kid? Did he think Carl and I could _share _over our lost innocence? He had no idea what he was condoning.

But still, Daisy, I wanted Carl's presence. I wanted exactly what Rick wanted. I liked the talking and the angry and the sharing and the honesty that we shared. Not complete honesty, of course. I wondered how Carl would react, if he knew. If any of them knew.

'I _think_ that shirt there is clean, Lola'. There was joking in Carol's voice, a sure sign that she was apprehensive and that I should cool off. I hadn't noticed, but she'd been leaning against the wall with Judith balanced in her arms, light eyes trained on my stone hard face. God, Daisy, when had I turned into this rock hard shell?

'Right. Yeah. Sorry'. Carol smiled, and I took the presence of Judith as an easy distraction. 'How is she? Heard she caught some bad sun burn a few-'

Carl had walked in then. He looked vaguely uncomfortable for a moment, and I had not helped the awkwardness at all by cutting off mid sentence and staring pointedly at Carol. Let her do the talking, right?

'Carl,' she greeted, smiling politely. 'You here for Judy?' Carol had adjusted the girl, as if to hand her to Carl, and he darted forward quickly. I know it sounds stupid, but there was something about Carl interacting with Judith that made me feel a little..._happy_, in a stupid way. I'd forgotten what happiness was like, but it was sweet, Daze, the way he made so sure that she was fitted into his skinny arms before stepping away from Carol.

'Why don't you go too, Lola? I can hang all this out to dry. You go have a break, okay?' Oh, Carol. She had thought so much that she had been doing me some kind of favour. I had seen it on her face the moment he had walked into the room; a kind of pointed eye flicker toward me that said a thousand words.

'Oh, no. No, no. I'm fine here. I'll help-'

Carl stood there, cradling Judith, looking entirely like I felt.

Carol shook her head, and had already been gathering the sopping wet clothing into her arms, which in turn had wet her dry clothes. '_Go_,' she insisted. 'I promised Lizzie and Mika that I would go and see them anyway - Mika has something to show me, a drawing'.

I fretted for a moment, wishing that the cement below me could just swallow me a whole. Why? _Why _was everyone so concerned with pushing me to Carl, and why did I not mind the fact that every time I looked at Carl, I wanted to know every little thing about him and to feel his sweaty palms against my biceps again and-

'Yeah, sure. Okay'. Carl turned sharply out of the room, muttering to Judith in a kind of distracted manner that suggested he could at least talk to her instead of me. You know how I am Daisy, I can't take awkward situations like that at all, can I? Confrontations _suck._

We had left behind the sounds of Carol shuffling about for the empty hallway that Rick and I had occupied before. It took five whole seconds of walking down that hallway for Carl to finally speak up, like he usually did. That's one thing I noticed about Carl. If he wanted to say something, he would say it. For someone I thought so reserved and so moodily quiet, he would say what was on his mind.

I couldn't do that.

With his eyes still trained on the floor ahead of him, Carl moved Judith in his arms and said, 'Why did you push me away?'

'Huh?'

I knew. I had _known _what he was talking about.

'Why did you push me away, before?' Judith gurgles and he smirks a little. I remember being glad that he was so focussed on her little face, because then I could at least gawk and blush like a mad teenage girl without him noticing. I preferred to keep that part of me locked away, just to keep up the bravado of me being stonily indifferent.

Hell, hadn't I already shown Carl that I had been anything but?

I was at a loss. Why had I pushed him away? I couldn't say that it was because I didn't want it, because a day after the clumsy kiss, I had lay in bed, listening to Beth's light breathing, and realised what a jolting kid of horror that Grumpy Grimes kiss had made get butterflies and pink cheeks in all but a second.

'...I don't know'.

Carl grunted, as if acknowledging my statement. He stopped, forcing me to stop with him, which in turn forced me to meet his gaze as he had turned to me, that glaring look of _looking _on his face. With eyes trained on mine, he held Judith out a little. 'Hold her'.

'Er. What?'

Judith turned her little head to look at me, bright little eyes blinking in the dimness of the prison hallway. 'Hold Judith. You haven't yet'.

But she had been so small, Daisy. She had been so small and fragile and pure.

'I don't want to'.

Carl looked as if he might groan. He didn't understand, Daisy. He didn't understand that Judith was something that I couldn't touch.

'Why?'

I _could not_ allow myself to do that.

'She's too-' Good? Precious? Little? Innocent? 'I'm too-' Bad? Tainted? Messed up? _Murderer? _

Why did all of my worst confrontations seem to happen in that damn hall?

'She's a _baby._ Why're you so _scared_ of her?' Carl had that tone in his voice again. He had that tone that suggested I was stupid and I was not understanding the simplicity of what he had been asking of me. His shoulders sagged, but his resolve hardened. 'I could think that- that if my _mom_ had never gotten pregnant with Judith, she'd still be alive'. I stared, too dumbfounded to even blanch at the words. 'But that's not Judith's fault, is it? I'm not gonna blame Judith for that or let her remind me of what happened when she was born or what I _had _to do. So you- you've gotta stop doing that with Lizzie and with her'.

He held Judith, who was becoming restless at staying still for so long, out toward me once again. There was a dip in his body, as if he was leaning toward me to edge the baby closer and closer. I stared uneasily. 'Take her'.

This time, I had. Without flinching and without pausing.

She had been _warm. _She had been soft and warm and reeked of _baby. _It took me a second to adjust her, but with Carl's help I had her propped up against my chest with her head on my shoulder and my hand supporting her bum. Her hair tickled my chin and, for one split second, I wondered if I could just see things from her eyes for just a few minutes.

To her, the world must be so simple.

Until next time. I love you, little sister.

Yours,

Lola.

* * *

**The reviews have been so kind, thank you!**


	7. 30

**Plain Lo**

**Chapter Seven:**

_**30**_

* * *

Dear Daisy,

It was a quiet day at the prison, and Beth slowly began to count up the days since the last accident on the _this workplace _thing that Maggie had brought back for her once. We were at 30 days since the last accident, and Carl was sitting on the top bunk with me.

I think, Daisy, that neither of us could deny by that point that we were friends.

I had been distracted, legs folded beneath me and Lolita sticking out from under my flimsy pillow. Carl had shuffled into the room half an hour before, a crinkled comic book in his hand that he threw at me whilst hoisting himself up onto the bunk. 'Dad told me I needed to get out of my room. He's gone on a run by himself,' he explained, plopping himself onto the bed with such animation that it creaked noisily.

'Going into another bedroom a few doors doesn't really count'.

Carl had shrugged, taking the comic book back and kicking his shoes off of the side of the bunk. 'He won't care if I'm with you or Patrick, as long as I'm being a _kid_'.

I wasn't about to complain that Carl was by my side, nor that his sock covered foot was rocking against my own in an annoying yet constant thrum. 'What're you reading?'

'Avengers comic'. He held the flimsy material with a kind of indifference, as if he had read it a hundred times already. With the limited reading material, he probably had. 'Michonne just brought them back for me. I used to read them loads when- before'. There was a pause. '...She's gone on a run too - again. So's Daryl and the others'. I knew who he meant by the others, Daze. There was a set group of people who went on runs whenever we needed stuff - _they_ were the bad asses.

I thought for a moment, opening my mouth, unsure. I could tell Carl was worried, and thought perhaps my voice would be a distraction. That was why he had come to me, wasn't it? It was the first thought that popped into my head at the word _comic._ 'My sister liked stuff like that. Comics and video games and stuff. I didn't like comics - still don't. I prefer books without pictures. But...have you ever played _Halo _or the _Arkham _games?'_  
_

Carl lit up in a way that most teenage boys do at the opportunity to rant about such things. It was almost unnerving, Daisy, that after so many days of alienation from each other, we had given up the pretense that we only wanted the anger and the dislike. 'Yeah,' he replied, as nonchalantly as he could.

I'd nodded, going back to picking at my bed covers and listening to the rustle of Carl's comic. It was nice. In those few days, I had slowly become used to Carl finishing up with his dad's farming and then seeking me out.

I never really told Carl about the true depths of my loneliness, but I kinda think he got it.

With a ruffle of the pages, Carl curled the comic so it fit into his hand and rolled his head against the wall to look at me. I blinked, a little mesmerized by this man-boy-thing that had done what only you had done. He had captured my very attention and held it for a stretch amount of time, leaving me wondering how I had functioned on my own for so long.

'D'you wanna go outside?'

I thought for a moment about saying no and staying on my high perch away from the others. I'd known that I shouldn't though. I knew that it would be good for me to spend time with people other than Carl.

It was warm outside, as it had been for weeks. Patrick had been lingering by the eating area with a big ol' grin on his face at the sight of us. That was the thing about Patrick. He just seemed so _happy _all of the time. Like he was so blessed and gracious to be at the prison, that he couldn't possibly consider the idea of being sad.

'Hey, catch!' Patrick laughed as Carl _just _caught the soccer ball he had thrown him and, for a moment, I had joined in on the relaxed smiles. Carl had made a motion to throw it back, but stopped suddenly, brown furrowing and eyes squinting.

'What the hell are _they _doing?'

And that was that. The moment Carl stormed forward to check out something that I had not yet seen, Patrick was close behind him. It took me a moment to squint past the sunlight (apparently I had become more accustomed to the dark of the prison than I realized) and see what Carl had been reacting to.

In my startled horror, I had tripped after the two curious teenage boys.

I think I had seen you in the shadows of her again, Daisy. Instead of seeing Lizzie so close to those Walkers, I had seen _you._

It was Lizzie, Mika and two other children of whom I had not bothered to learn the names of. Hell, I still hadn't even known the name of the woman who had been bit thirty days ago. The childish shouts had reached my ears as the three of us - Carl, Patrick and I - approached the four children.

'Hey, _Nick_!'

'Over here, Nick!'

They had been surrounding the fence, waving at the small herd of Walkers that had gathered there, claw like hands running against the wiring of the fencing. The children's shouts only seemed to spur on their need to get into the prison. It took me a moment to figure out what they had been doing, but upon realizing-

'You're _naming _them?'

Carl, thankfully, was just as horrified as I had been. I knew then, with a burning clarity, that this Lizzie was not you. You hated the Walkers. You hated them so much that you went to lengths that I never knew possible for you, to escape them. This Lizzie seemed to want to _interact _with them - to fucking _name _them.

The four of them turned in unison, only Lizzie not looking guilty at being caught. Among all of us young lot, Carl, Patrick and I were the eldest.

'Well,' explained Mika, ever so slightly sheepish. 'One of them has a name tag, so we thought all of them should'. Is this was children had been doing, Daisy? Had they seen the Walkers as pets, as mindless animals that they should name and laugh at? Did they not understand that they had been people once? Did they not understand that they were _dangerous_?

'...They had names when they were _alive,' _Carl pointed out, rocking the ball between his hands. He spoke as if it talking to someone decades younger than him. 'They're _dead _now'.

Lizzie spoke , and to this day her words haunt me. 'No they're not. They're not just...different'. _Different. _Sure they were different. Different in the sense that they ate people and had no care for anything else other than their feeding frenzies. I had, and never _will_, seen those things as people.

I tried to keep quiet, to not draw attention to myself. It had been my mantra, my rule. But that comment, that one stupid statement had me scoffing and staring at Lizzie incredulously. 'The _hell_-? Lizzie, they're _dead'._

'They don't _talk,' _Carl agreed, getting truly worked up then. 'They don't _think. _They _eat people. _They _kill people'. _Young sir. You can understand now, more than ever, why Patrick called him that, right Daisy?

'People kill people. Still have names'.

'Have you seen what happens?' Carl had cut in. 'Have you seen someone die like that?' I watched his hand fly out toward the Walkers, his frustration showing. Who hadn't seen someone die like that, Daisy? Mom. Mom had died like that, hadn't she? Hell, mom had died like that within the first few days.

'Yeah. Yeah, I have'.

'They're not people, and they're not pets. _Don't _name them'. I had glanced at Carl through the spaces in my hair, watching his stance and his stubbornness and the shadow of his father standing behind him. A man. In that moment, he had been a man.

Lizzie shrugged a little, glancing at her friends. Her tone had been that of defeat. 'C'mon. We're supposed to go read'. I watched her go, eyeing her with a confused stare and a sense of worry. If she thought like that, how could she ever hope to survive alone?

'You coming to story time, Patrick?' Mika asked, hanging back with that sweet little smile on her face. I guessed that was what Lizzie had once been like, before shit had hit the fan and the dead had started walking. Patrick, in his hesitancy, had drawn his hands into his pockets and sighed.

'Er, _yeah'._

'See you then!'

Both Carl and I, in unison, had sent Patrick amused stares that the boy rebuked with a sheepish laugh. 'I go sometimes. I'm immature. You two wouldn't dig it anyway, it's for kids. I'm gonna head up there too. I'll catch you guys later'. He nodded. 'Young sir, young miss'.

There had been that sense of loss there though, and the moment Patrick left and Carl sighed, '_Yep', _we had both looked at each other with wry smiles on our faces. 'What shall we do _now?' _Carl asked, mock excitement in his voice as he swung around, hands in his pockets, and stared out at the Walkers. '_Nick,' _he muttered, shaking his head.

I watched Patrick go for a moment, before turning to stare at the rotting, mobile bodies. My stare only lasted a second. I couldn't bare to look at them like that unless I was fighting them. 'We _could _talk about how many screws that Lizzie kid has missing'.

Carl snorted. '_I_ named Violet, but-'

'But _that's _messed up,' I agreed, wrinkling my nose.

There had been a pause. Carl shifted. 'Have you ever...wondered what they do in story time? Patrick's _our _age and he goes. Maybe they're not _kids _books'.

_Keep him away from story time. Keep him away. If he sees, he will tell Rick, and Carol will be in trouble. Do not let him go._

Careful not to seem too eager, I had shrugged. 'I think Patrick only goes because...I dunno, he _really _wants to still be a kid'. I smiled, kicking at the grass and catching Carl's eye. 'You should have seen him whenever the book fair came to our school. He'd go right to fantasy books. It was adorable'.

Carl, though, did not seem to find this fact adorable. Sure, he had smiled that half smile, but his stiffly asked question of, 'So, you knew Patrick - before?'

_Algebra Patrick. _You'd always point out that his glasses were way too thick for his face. You were such a bitch sometimes, Daze. Hilarious, but bitchy. 'Tutored me in maths as well as he could, but I was still shit at it. We didn't really hang around the same people'. I caught Carl's eye out of the corner of mine. 'I was _rebellious'._

'That I can imagine'.

And I laughed, and so had he. Do you see? Do you see how I was with him? How he was with me? I believed, right then, without a shadow of a doubt...that...well, that Carl Grimes was _good _for me. You know what I mean? When I was alone, before they found me, I was in some real dark places. I'd just sit in that shop and wonder what the hell was the point, if all I was gonna be doing day after day was hoping a Walker didn't start banging on the windows.

I had been haunted by memories, both good and bad.

Carl Grimes had made my palms sweaty and my lips quirk in a rare smile. But my smiles had no longer been rare, not when he was about. Whether the smile was in humor, in bitterness or in a mocking, mean manner - Grumpy Grimes got them out of me.

That used to be you. When the dead started walking, my unhealthy obsession was that you would be safe and that you would make me smile; because that was simply what you did. Then you left. I realize now that it had not been _good _for me to find these figures in my life to pull myself away from my own horrible memories, but he had been _there, _Daze. He'd been in the exact same position as me.

We had both known what we were doing. We were young, but not stupid.

Until next time. I love you, little sister.

Yours,

Lola.

* * *

**Sorry, I'm back. Thank you for the lovely and positive reviews, very much appreciated, guys :) Next chapter will be a part two of this chapter. **


	8. Clarity

**Plain Lo**

**Chapter Eight:**

**Clarity**

* * *

Dear Daisy,

I'm not subtle. Despite that, I think I'm quite a good liar, but I could never lie to you or my maths teacher, or even Patrick. Patrick would always know when I hadn't revised the tips and boring maths equations he had given me. I would pull faces and furrow my brow and stutter over my well thought out lie. You can now add Carl to that list of people I can't lie to, because lying to him was horrible.

And I don't mean I felt guilty. I mean I just couldn't _lie to him. _It was after standing in that field for ten more minutes and insisting that I had wanted to _see the others come back _that Carl had narrowed those blue eyes, lined with dark lashed, and turned on me.

'What's wrong with you?'

I feigned ignorance, of course. If there is anything that I could do (and still can) it is feign ignorance, because I'm just so familiar with the concept of it. Ha. You would have laughed at that. 'Nothing's wrong with me. _Paranoid,' _I mumbled, ducking away and squinting at something in the distance to make myself seem busy. Walkers, Walkers and, oh look, _more _Walkers.**Blush**

'You're being _weird,' _he accused, almost childishly and with an ounce of annoyance in his voice. He didn't like being left out. He never liked not knowing something.

I had to keep him away from that library, Daisy. Carol had entrusted me with that one little task - hell, I almost wanted to prove that I _could _do it, that I wasn't just some kid. But, above everything, I just didn't want to let Carol down. I had this thing, you see. I didn't...didn't want to let down another maternal figure in my life.

_Big sister. That's what you are, my Lovely Lo. Now go and look after your little sister and leave me here, okay? Go on. I love you. Remember that. Do your mother proud and survive. You're so strong. So brilliant. _

'I'm not being weird,' I insisted. 'I just like it out here-'

Carl pulled a face. 'You _hate _the outdoors-'

'Well. That's not strictly _true. _Carl, I just wanna stay out here with you, okay? Quit being so damn _paranoid - _Christ'. I had him, and I knew it. _With you. _Had it been mean to use his obvious crush on me as a weapon...probably. But, I don't know...it'd been a long time since I'd had that warm feeling from just looking at a boys face, you know? I hadn't had time to invest myself in something as stupid as a _crush. _

Carl glowered for a moment, and his cheekbones had tinged pink. I had to duck my head away to hide my victorious, amused smile.

See? There I went smiling again.

'I'm bored,' Carl announced, not a minute later. 'Can't we go in my room and read comics or something? My dad won't be back for _ages, _neither will Daryl's group. Come_ on_,' he insisted, tugging at my wrist and blinking those blue eyes at me. I cringed, hating that he had such an effect on my decision making. No one had had effect of my thoughts or decision - I'd prided myself on being level headed about that kind of shit.

But, apparently, my mind just turned to bubbles and gloop when Carl Grimes entered my life, Daze.

In the end I agreed, but only because the library could easily be avoided if we simply went straight to Carl's cell. I told him sternly that I only agreed to that, _not _to reading his comics. Carl just didn't seem to understand how _boring _I found them. He would always roll his eyes at _Lolita. _

'The words are stupid and tiny,' he grumbled, as we hit the gravel of the prison.

'At least I can tell what order I'm supposed to read things in'.

Carl scoffed. 'It's easy. Not my fault you're too _stupid _to read a comic. Ow! Don't _hit _me-' He punched me right back, though a little lighter and with a fist that wasn't really clenched at all. I laughed, feigning hurt whilst he puffed his chest out and said, 'Don't wanna _really _hurt you'.

There wasn't really anything to say about Carl's cell, other than the fact that the bunk had a sleeping bag on it that was always messy, the floor was sometimes dotted with the odd sweet wrapper - courtesy of Michonne - and there was a stack of comic books tucked beneath the bed frame. An _ever growing_ stack of comic books.

'When are we going to have another shooting lesson?' I had asked quietly, settling myself onto his bunk whilst he kicked off his shoes and shuffled onto it, plopping himself next to me. He sat as he always sat; with his back pressed against the wall and his feet dangling off the edge of the bed. I followed suite, my thigh against his much thinner one.

Carl Grimes was skinny. I suppose that's worth noting, only because I've only ever really told you about his dark hair and his blue eyes. He was skinny in a lanky kind of way that suggested he had grown too quickly in a short amount of time, and his body was still trying to catch up with him. A little like you, actually. You were all skinny wrists and knobbly knees, then you hit thirteen and you started to look like a little lady, didn't you?

'I dunno,' he murmured, flipping open the comic book and revealing the creased, coloured pages. 'Soon. Tomorrow, I guess'. He glanced sideways at me and, oh Daze, I'll always remember the light freckles on his curved nose. It was the sun - it had brought out my own freckles, dotting up and down my arms and chest in light brows flecks. I decided then, as his eyes flickered nervously at our close proximity, that I would give all of my freckles to Carl Grimes, because they would look so much better on his own skinny arms and soft looking cheeks.

I think if Carl had kissed me then, I would have be alright with it.

'I-' he had swallowed, Adams Apple bopping along his skinny throat nervously. When he turned away, fingers scratching nervously against the fabric of his jeans, I had known something was wrong. He had looked worried; the look given when someone wants to admit something bad.

'What?'

'_Don't _be mad,' he had said hesitantly, and immediately I had assumed that whatever he was about to tell me _would _make me mad. Carl Grimes had a knack for making me mad, Daze - I think I've mentioned that before. 'I, uh, I went through your bag on the, uh...I think it was the second day you got here. Yeah-'

I glowered. '...Right'.

I noticed that his cheeks had paled slightly, and the fact that this meant they had been pink with a blush before had calmed my annoyance at his intrusion. I had known why he had done it. Carl had probably thought he should _check up _on the new recruit, Daisy. That's what he was like. He took things into his own hands that he thought needed to be done.

'You're mad'.

'I'm not pleased'.

'I took, er, _this'. _And then he had pulled out a picture of myself and Melanie. You, Daisy, had probably not known at the time that Melanie and I had been in the midst of arguing about staying or leaving our sanctuary in the cheese shop. Melanie had wanted to leave, I had wanted to stay. The picture was taken on the camera, a small copy that was crinkled and showed, at the bottom of the picture, the top of the cheese counter that you had ducked behind. Peeking over the top was me, rolling my eyes, and Melanie, arms crossed and dark hair pulled into a bun.

I hadn't ever told _anyone _in the group about Melanie.

I glared, I snatched the photo from him. '_Why?'_

'I don't know. Just wanted to see if you were crazy or not. Wanted to see if you'd ever say anything about the woman in the photo'. He glanced at me, eyes narrowed. 'You didn't'.

'What the hell were you looking for in my bag? Dismembered heads?' Carl shrugged. I huffed, stuffing the picture into my jeans pockets. Later, I would rip it into a hundred pieces and push it into the warm breeze. 'You're an idiot,' I accused, feeling ever so slightly panicked. 'A stupid, idiotic-'

The remorse left Carl as quickly as it had come, replaced instead with indignation. 'Well, you're a liar! _Who was that? _You never said anything about a woman - what the hell are you trying to hide?'

I panicked. I slammed a hand over his mouth, which only resulted in his head banging lightly against the wall behind him. I wondered how I could lie about this one.

'Shut _up!' _I had whispered, yanking my hand away. 'Carl, _please _don't say anything. _Please-'_

'Why?'

Because I had shot my little sister in the head and if I told him about Melanie, I would have to tell him that too, wouldn't I, Daisy?

Wouldn't I?

_Wouldn't. I?_

I shook my head at Carl and slid off of the bed quickly, my foot catching on the sleeping bag in my haste to exit his suddenly stifling cell. Carl grunted, and I assume that I may have accidentally kicked him. 'Lola,' he said, grabbing my hand whilst getting off of the bunk himself. I didn't shake him off, but I had realized with a creeping embarrassment that my eyes were wet. My heart _lurched _against the walls of my body. 'Who-'

I tore my hand from his grasp. I remember, in that moment, wanting to be as far away from Carl Grimes as I possibly could. The normality that I had found in his presence was shattered in that one second. I was _terrified. _'_Don't _come after me,' I told him, and it was only when I spoke that I realized how _furious _and how _scared _I sounded. '_Don't _tell anyone'.

I bolted. It was only when I sat in my smoking spot with a cigarette burned halfway to the filter that I realized how hard I was shaking and how fucked I was if Carl told anyone. If Carl told his _dad._

Do...

Do you...?

I'm sorry to bring it up. I've tried to hard not too, but this moment was going to come because that had been the first time I had come close to telling Carl about you. Other times will come in these memoirs to you.

Do you remember me killing you, Daisy?

Do you remember me murdering you?

No. I'm sorry. No. It was self defence. It was _right. _I'm sorry, but it _was. It had to be. _It wasn't your fault either, Daisy. You weren't right, near the end. You weren't. Oh God. I hate remembering. I _hate it. _

These thoughts are very close to the ones that had been going through my head as I had sucked at the cigarette, hoping that Carl would not try to find me. _What if he goes to the library? _I thought. _So what? You're not his babysitter, _a voice replied, and sounded something like you.

Do you remember coming toward me with that gun cradled in your hand. Our Holy Gun. It was the best weapon we had, aside from my knives. Do you remember how the gun only had two bullets? I think we both knew what those bullets were for, I just...I just didn't think that you would try and use one of them on me, Daisy. They were a last resort, meant for when we had nowhere to run and the only other option would be death by becoming a meal for Walkers. No one wanted that option.

Did you really want to do that to me? Did you really think it was a good idea? Did you really think you would be putting me out of my misery by cramming a bullet into my skull, and then yours?

I would have _never _done what I did, if you had not come at me with that gun. I _loved _you, Daisy. You were my little sister and I _loved you. _I _lived _for you and I _starved _for you.

Melanie. She did that to you. She whispered words into your ears and told you that nothing would change; that we would always live in this world of terror. She crushed your hope, your light. She made you not care about the good things and only see the bad. We should have turned her away when we bumped into her on that highway. We should have told her that, no, we were fine by ourselves.

I shouldn't have let her anywhere near you.

I shouldn't have let her poison you.

'_Lo_,' you had said to me, blinking innocently at my frozen form. '_Let's go_'. You spoke with such clarity, with such undeniable _determination. 'Like Melanie did'. _

_'Okay,' _I had smiled, voice watery and mind shaking with the appalling knowledge that I would have to kill my little sister, and the only way to do so would be to trick the gun out of her hands. So I had. '_Let me do it for you. My aim's better. I'll go after you'. _

You gave me the gun. You told me you loved me. I shot you in the head.

I'm _sorry._

I'm sorry I didn't follow after you, like I had promised. I'm sorry I left your body in that cheese shop to rot. I'm sorry, Daisy. I wish everyday that I'd held that gun to my head and gone right on after you. I miss you. I miss you so, so much and I am so, so sorry.

I'm sorry for what I did to Melanie, too. I'm sorry that I didn't do it sooner, because then maybe I would still have you.

Until next time. I love you, little sister.

Yours,

Lo.

* * *

**And that cat's outta the bag, ey? But what's this about Melanie? **

**Thank you for the reviews and follows and favourites!**


	9. Sick

**Plain Lo**

**Chapter Nine:**

**Sick**

* * *

Dear Daisy,

All I can hear is _her._

_'Oh, Lo. Were you always going to wait until she fell asleep?'  
_

Yes. I'd had it planned days.

'_Oh, Lo'._

I just had to wait until I knew you would not wake up, Daisy.

_'Were you always going to wait until she fell asleep?'_

I just had to make it look like an accident.

It was Carol who found me, and by the worried look on her face I could tell that Carl had, in fact, walked in on her on story time session with the other children. She wasn't angry, and for that I'd been grateful. I don't think my dwindling stash of cigarettes could have taken another emotional outburst from me.

'I'm sorry,' I had told her, knees drawn up to my chest and cheeks hollowing as I bit at the side of my mouth. 'I'm sorry. Did he tell Rick? Are you in trouble?'

Carol lowered herself to her haunches and clasped her hands in front of her. Around us, the light dimmed as the sun disappeared behind behind the prison. 'No,' she had replied carefully. 'Rick only came back about an hour ago, 'round the same time as the others'. She sighed. 'We lost Zach today'.

I said nothing. What could I say?

'You let me down, Lola. What happened?'

I placed my palms against my thighs and pressed them there, slowly rubbing up and down as I stared at the slab of concrete just over Carol's shoulder. 'Carl found something. In my bag'. Melanie. The picture. _No one could know. _'Something I didn't want anyone seeing'. I rubbed my nose nervously. 'What if he tells Rick?' I breathed.

Carol was silent for a while, and I wondered whether or not she would just up and leave. It felt odd, Daze, to have that feeling you get when your mom's mad at you. I hadn't felt it in so long. I almost _liked _the way Carol gave me a disappointed look and sighed. 'We're gonna have to talk to him. That's what we're gonna do. Some of the parents might be angry with what I've been teaching the children. Mad enough to get me in a lot of trouble'. She peered at me, patient. 'May I ask what Carl found in your bag?'

I trusted Carol, Daisy. There had been a time, when I first joined the prison people, that I wondered whether I would ever consider these people..._family. _The word had lost all meaning to me, because I had assumed that the ludicrous concept of it was dead to me. How could I ever feel part of something so beautiful once again, when everyone I had ever loved was dead?

But then I met Carol, and I remembered what it was like to have this soft but strong figure that was ever constant in my life. A mother, Daisy. And I loved Carol for that guilty pleasure she gave me.

'Carol, I...I lied when Daryl asked if I've ever killed anyone'.

I remember the air getting trapped in my lungs as she looked at me and the words fell from my mouth in a waterfall of panic. Justifying my actions. Telling her of your want to_ end_ it all, starting with _me._ Telling her of the gun I held to your head. Telling her the history of Melanie. Telling her the poison that spilt from Melanie's mouth. Telling her of the knife I had pressed to Melanie's wrists. Telling her of how awful it was to watch Melanie stare at me whilst I murdered her, with no sign of discomfort or struggle. She had just stared at me, Daisy. '_Were you always going to wait until she fell asleep?' _

Monster. Murderer. I had destroyed what was left of my innocence for nothing, because in the end I had not protected you at all. In the end, Melanie still made sure that I suffered, even after her death.

Carol had cradled my head against her chest, but I hadn't cried. If anything, I had felt _relieved. _That secret, that story, was something that I had carried for far too long, and for it to finally be a secret no more...I had felt weightless.

At the end of my shaky words, Carol had taken my cheeks into her hands and forced me to look at her direct gaze. 'You did what you had to do, to protect _your own,_' she said sternly, brow raised as she peered at me. 'You did what you _had _to do'.

But...Daisy, no matter how much I hated and despised Melanie, I still cannot get the feel of her blood off of my hands, nor the sound of my knife slicing through the thickness of her skull out of my mind. I made it look like she had killed herself. I made it look like I had found her in the morning, wrists slit, and put her down before she could _turn. 'I must have been minutes too late to stop her, Daze. I'm so sorry'._

I'm not sorry. I never had been. I just selfishly do not like living with the guilt.

'Lola'. Carol tightened her hold on me. 'You do understand that, don't you? That you did what was right? There is nothing wrong with protecting those you love. I would do it in a heartbeat'.

Oh, Carol. You _will._

Carol pressed me into the confines of my bed that night, telling Beth that I was ill and that I should sleep, and that she was sorry to hear of Zach's death. I agreed. I held Beth's hand as Carol left and I...I was so thankful that I had Carol. I never, not once, considered that someone would understand, but at the same time I had wondered whether it was _okay _that Carol still wanted me around. What I had done...it was awful, Daisy, and I know that.

I hope you forgive me, somehow. If there is some heaven or afterlife or _something_...I just hope that you forgive me.

The next day is the day, I think, that changed everything. It's the day that things just started going wrong, you know? After that day, it was just a long chain of events that piled more and more shit onto our otherwise shitty lives. The day started out as usual. I was awoken by Beth's hand on my shoulder as she shook me awake, her hair springy from sleep. We had fallen asleep with out hands clasped and words of comfort on my lips. The last thing I remember hearing before I went to sleep was Beth murmuring, 'I just can't cry. I _don't _anymore'.

I decided, that day, that I would not venture out into the outdoors and smile at Carl as he farmed with his father, nor would I hide away in my room like a hermit. No, that day I sat on the gravel and opened up _Lolita, _something that I had not done in a long time. I poured over the words that, somehow, became a comfort to me, and not once did I glance over the top of my book to spy out Grumpy Grimes.

I will admit to watching he, Michonne and his father wander over to the gate, but that was only out of curiosity. I had still been furious at him.

But the words in the book had blurred; I hadn't been able to focus on them because all I could think about was _you _and what I had told Carol. Telling someone had made it seem so much more real. I couldn't believe that I actually _had _told someone. But, as I watched her potter around and prepare for breakfast, I was somehow glad that it had been Carol I told.

Should I have told you the truth about what happened to Melanie? No. You would have hated me. You would have _died _hating me. Did you love me more than ever, the moment I pulled that trigger? Had you been _grateful _that I had ended it all for you?

It is in that moment, as such thoughts had been running through my head, that an echoing, terrifying _bang _resounded like, funnily enough, a _gun shot_ in the building behind me.

I had been on my feet and staring across the field at Carl Grimes before the second shot even sounded. Distractedly, I had curled _Lolita_ up and squished it into my pocket.

The door behind me burst open and Lizzie and Mika had run out, shouts of, '_Help, help!' _on their tongues. Although I no longer saw you when I looked at Lizzie, the terror in their voices had me hurtling toward them in a frenzy. But then Carol had beat me to it, and I had stopped short so quickly that I nearly tripped over my own feet.

The others burst out of the other cell block, obviously heading quickly toward the source of the gunshots. _Walkers, _my mind had shouted. But how the hell had they got in? Carol turned to me, herding in Lizzie and Mika, my name on her lips. But with a quick shake of my head I had turned right around and passed the running Rick, his shout of, 'Get in the guard tower with Maggie and Carl!' assuring me_ that_ was the safest place to be right now.

For some reason, I had just needed Carl in my sights. A lot like when you were around, and I would force you to come with me to the 'bathroom' and vice versa. I had to always know you were okay.

It only really registered that I had been heading towards _him _specifically when I had, suddenly, been at his side and tugging at the rope with him which opened the orange gates, allowing Michonne and her horse back into the prison. There is only a short moment for Carl and I to share a look, before the fact that a small group of Walkers had followed Michonne registers.

'Gun,' I'd breathed, giving Carl a shove in the right direction and wishing, more than ever, that I had my knives. By the time he has the gun aimed and fired, I was already doing what _I _could to help.

I had helped Maggie open the chain gate and darted forward, ignoring the bullet that Maggie shot into a lone Walkers skull, and kicked aside a dead one that had landed too close to the obviously hurt Michonne. 'C'mon,' I urged, glad for the help that Maggie offered, taking Michonne's other side and lifting her.

'They heard the shots!' Carl called, pulling the startled horse back. He'd been suddenly absent of the gun, and had pulled the gate shut behind us as we balanced Michonne's arms over mine and Maggie's shoulders. Although I could tell she was trying to hide it as much as possible, she grimaced and limped as if the injury was hurting her more than she would have liked to admit.

In reply to Carl's comment, we glanced over our shoulders and saw, with a sinking feeling, that more Walkers had pushed themselves against the fence.

And that, I can tell you, had really lightened the mood, Daze.

By the time we reached the prison, Rick had been the one walking out of the cell block with his shirt bloody and his face sweaty. All I can really remember from this encounter was Carl rushing to hug his father, Michonne assuring Rick that Carl had _had _to shoot that Walker (I remember the woman carrying the body of the dead child, too, but I hate remembering that image) and Rick's remorseful words of, 'Patrick got sick last night'.

I don't think much after that. I just let Michonne lean her weight on me and felt the heat of Carl's form next to mine as we walked back into our cell block. Patrick was dead. Patrick had spread some sort of sickness. Patrick was dead.

Just like that.

It was Carl that took my hand and pulled me into his cell, and it was Carl that settled me onto his bed after we allowed Beth to patch up Michonne. 'Patrick,' is all I had said and Carl had nodded, standing in front of me.

He'd been a little part of home, you know? Same age as me and he was just...gone. Patrick, dead. Algebra Patrick, Daisy. Gone.

What if it had been Carl? What if it had been Carol? Those thoughts had me pinching at the dirty fabric of my jeans nervously and trying, desperately, to block out the sounds of gunshots and dying. I had become too used to safety. Death, which had once been a normality, was a shock in that moment.

But despite the fact I had known that I needed to harden myself up and resort back to practising with a gun and find my knives once again, I had stared up at Carl and wondered how the hell I would function if _he _had died. It had taken me mere months to become so attached to Grumpy Grimes but I had known, in that moment, that his death would ruin me.

That thought had not been a healthy one.

Because of this surge of emotion, I had waited until Carl had caught my gaze and stared back at me before grabbing the cuff of his long sleeved shirt and pulling him down suddenly, pressing my mouth against his in a reenactment of something that had happened what seemed like so long ago. He had stumbled and breathed out quickly through his nose, but the feel of my hand against his jaw and the other sliding to hold tightly onto his wrist must have settled him somehow, because he regained his balance by placing a hand on the mattress beside me.

It was nothing other than a close mouthed kiss, a glance into each others eyes, and then another kiss - this one involving the settle of Carl's hand on my shoulder.

'If it had been _you, _or _Carol, _or-' As I spoke, his nose had nudged against mine. 'I can't go through that again. I can't'. His cheeks had been pink and his eyes glassy with sorrow.

The gunshots has stopped. It was quiet.

His reply had been a clumsy kiss against the corner of my mouth.

Until next time. I love you, little sister.

Yours,

Lola.

* * *

**I'm so excited to get into the series and just ugh I have such plans for this fic. Lola may seem like a miserable mare sometimes, but I love her character so much. Thank you for the reviews, guys!  
**

**Also, follow my tumblr. It's qarlgrimes and I mostly post walking dead, hobbit, lord of the rings and the hunger games. **


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